The Long and Short Of It
by windscryer
Summary: Prompt-based standalone ficlets all connected by Charlie!hair. Oh, and brotherly worry, team goodness, blood, and pancakes. Further genre\pairing\character\warnings\etc. in AN's. Some het in a couple of chapters. No slash.
1. Cut

Disclaimer: I count on my fingers and regularly wear calculators out. The very idea of this show being my brainchild or property is LOLable.

Lu likes Charlie's hair. (To an almost scary degree.) And I don't know how to write short stories. (Less scary, more annoying.) So she's making me practice by giving me prompts and cutting me off it I run too long. :D

. . .

No pun intended. ;P

**Prompt:** Cut  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Charlie, Don  
**Warnings:** excessively hot men being hot, PWP without the pr0n (Plot What Plot?)  
**Genres:** Family, Fluff, Gen, Pr0nless PWP (Plot? What Plot?)

**Summary:** Charlie makes a change.

* * *

A knock on the door frame of the War Room got Don's attention, but he was looking over possible escape routes for their felon so he just said, "Yeah?"

"Hey, uh, Megan said you were looking for me?"

Don clicked and dragged the map up slightly. "Charlie? Yeah, I called you like four times. We need your help figuring out which route this guy's gonna take."

"Sorry."

"Where were y— Whoa."

Don had finally pulled his attention away to look at his brother, but he wasn't expecting what he found. He gave the younger man a quick but thorough scan even as Charlie squirmed under the inspection.

"I was getting my haircut and couldn't get to my phone under the cape . . . thing."

"I see that. Any particular reason why? You haven't changed your hair in years."

Charlie shrugged. "I don't know. Just . . . felt like a change."

"Uh huh," Don said. He looked back at the screen, then said after a moment, "How does Amita feel about it?"

He could almost _hear_ the blush when Charlie said, "Amita feels . . . conflicted."

Don grinned.

"She likes the way it looks, but . . . well, anyway. What did you need again?"

Don chuckled as Charlie stopped hovering in the doorway and joined him.

"I need you to use your pursuit curves or whatever and figure out where my fugitive is going to try and hide," he said, gesturing at the map projected on the wall.

"I don't think pursuit curves will help you here, but maybe . . ."

Don shook his head as Charlie trailed off into mumbles and then grabbed a marker and started scribbling on the closest board.

While his brother was distracted he gave the kid another look over.

It wasn't a bad hairstyle in his opinion. Weird, sure, given that he was used to the curly mop his brother called hair, but . . . eh.

"The warehouse."

Don blinked and looked up. "Sorry?"

"The warehouse," Charlie repeated, going to the wall and pointing. "That's where your guy is hiding out."

"All right. Hey, thanks Charlie," he said on his way out, then turned and pointed with the folder in his hand. "Nice hair, by the way. Colby! David! Let's gear up and head out."

* * *

Review, plz & thx! :D


	2. Red

**Prompt:** Red  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters:** Charlie, Don, Colby, David, Megan  
**Warnings:** language, violence, brotherly schmoop out the wahoo, excessively hot men being hot, PWP without the pr0n (Plot What Plot?)  
**Genres:** Drama, Gen, Friendship, Pr0nless PWP (Plot? What Plot?)

**Summary:** A protest at Cal-Sci lends Charlie a new look.

* * *

"Sorry I'm late, I was leaving campus and—" He stopped when a snicker caught his ears.

Rolling his eyes skyward, he waited for it.

"Uh, Charlie?"

He could hear the amusement in his brother's voice.

"Yes, that is red spray paint in my hair."

Colby's snicker turned into a full chuckle and even David coughed over a laugh.

Megan was the most polite of the group and just smiled.

"What happened?" she asked, taking his shoulder and turning him for a better look.

Charlie sighed and let her manipulate him, answering, "We've got Dr. Frances Wellington as a guest speaker on campus this week." The red paint covered most of the back of his suit jacket and part of his pants heading down. Heading upward it went into his hair like bad Halloween costuming.

Don frowned. That name was familiar but he couldn't quite . . .

David rescued him. "Isn't she that scientist from the UK? The one that has that new idea she says will undo global warming?"

"Oh yeah-yeah," Don said, snapping his fingers. "I knew I'd heard of her somewhere. The solar scrubber . . . thing, right?"

"Reverse greenhouse processor, yes," Charlie said.

"Okay, but what does that have to do with red spray paint?" Don asked.

"Green Peace," Megan said, sounding slightly less amused.

"Looks like red paint to me," Colby said.

Megan gave him a pursed lip stare. "Green Peace is protesting her coming to LA."

Don frowned. Pranks were amusing, but this was sounding less like a prank and more like freedom of speech taken too far. "They have a problem with her wanting to fix global warming?"

"No," Charlie said. "They have a problem with her dating a well known fashion designer who prefers natural to synthetics for her clothing line. And I'm not talking about 100 percent cotton."

"Environmental whack jobs," Colby said in not quite a mutter. He seemed to be less amused too.

Privately Don agreed if this was how they showed their dislike.

"Okay, but how did _you_ get red spray paint on you?" David asked.

"They're all over campus. They _were_ just tagging the people who have openly supported her visit this morning when I went in, but by the time I left they'd switched to a general tag of anyone on the faculty for 'complicity with the bloodthirsty administration that supports the wholesale slaughter of defenseless animals'." He shrugged. "Or so I was informed as they painted me."

All humor was gone from the room.

"They _what?_" Don demanded.

"Charlie!" Megan said.

"Because that sounds like a peaceful gathering," Colby added sarcastically.

"Yeah," David said with a snort. "I'm sure that this is exactly what the founding fathers meant."

Charlie sighed. "I'm okay," he said when Don marched into his personal bubble and started checking him over. "They were enthusiastic, but not violent or anything."

"I don't care, Charlie," Don snapped. "That's assault, dammit—"

"As the LAPD officers called in to disperse them explained," Charlie said, keeping his voice calm and hoping it was contagious.

"Are you pressing charges?" Colby asked.

Charlie shook his head. "No. The dean advised us to think carefully as stirring the pot won't help anything—"

"Charlie—" four different voices started to say.

"—_and_," he said, cutting them all off, "I happen to agree."

That didn't satisfy Don apparently.

"Charlie, it's not 'stirring the pot' to ask the law to be enforced! This is—"

"Not that big a deal, Don," Charlie said. "I wasn't hurt. I wasn't even really embarrassed. It's red paint and it will wash off."

Don arched an eyebrow and touched the hardened streak on the jacket.

"Okay, that won't wash off, but it's just a jacket. It can be replaced. Pressing charges won't do anything but give them publicity and make their martyr complexes—and egos—swell. I, for one, don't want to vindicate them."

He raised his eyebrows and—though no one looked pleased—they all let it go.

"Fine. It's your decision," Don said.

"Yes," Charlie agreed. "It is. Now, I have some equations I think you'll want to see—"

Colby snorted. "I'd rather skip the equations and get right to the answers if it's all the same."

Charlie, both used to the teasing and pleased that the tense atmosphere was fading, grinned and said, "I'm sure you would. But I'm a teacher and therefore obligated to inform you that shortcuts don't get you anywhere in life worth going."

David and Megan grinned and even Don's lips twitched slightly behind his fingers playing over his bottom lip.

Colby made a face, nose scrunching. "You sound just like my ninth grade English teacher."

Charlie glared at that. "Bite your tongue. I teach _math_, where there is logic and order. Not English where they make the rules up as they go."

That got a laugh from all of them as Charlie plugged in his laptop and the screen appeared on the wall. "Okay, so you see this trend here?" he asked, waving at the sharp incline on the graph.

"That's our money trail?" Don asked.

"No, but it led me _to_ the money trail."

Don nodded and let Charlie explain his numbers without interruption until he caught the change in his brother's voice that indicated this was the important bit.

"You see?"

Don's lips curved. "Yeah. Thanks, Charlie," he added, ruffling his brother's hair and forcibly swallowing down the urge to go find someone and punch them when his hand got caught on the hard red streak.

He forced his voice to remain light when he said, "Okay, boy wonder, now go wash your hair. Tell Dad I'll be home for dinner, okay?"

Charlie nodded as the team filed out to get ready to leave, well prepared with the knowledge he'd provided.

* * *

Review, plz & thx! :D


	3. Wet

**Prompt:** Wet  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Charlie, Don, Colby, David, Megan  
**Warnings:** brotherly schmoop out the wahoo, excessively hot men being hot, PWP without the pr0n (Plot What Plot?)  
**Genres:** Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fluff, Gen, Friendship, Pr0nless PWP (Plot? What Plot?)

**Summary:** A suspect needs a get-away but Charlie's _in_ the way.

* * *

"Don, where did you want—"

"CHARLIE, LOOK OUT!"

Charlie had just enough time to register the warning, then something hit him in the chest hard and he was falling backward.

Right into the backyard pool next to the patio where the body of the Hollywood starlet was found.

His arms flailed and windmilled, but he knew well the laws of inertia and gravity and there was no countering force that was going to stop him from hitting the water with a massive splash.

He fought to right himself even before he was completely under, but didn't find success until well after that point.

He coughed and choked and spluttered on the overly chlorinated water and paddled back to the edge where half a dozen hands waited to pull him out, two of which belonged to his brother.

"You okay?" Don asked, but was already turning and yelling at someone to get a blanket from the ambulance that had been summoned originally by the neighbor.

Charlie wiped a hand over his face to move the wet locks obscuring his vision and then bent forward to cough up more water.

Don's hand on his back moved up and down, his other hand lightly but firmly gripping Charlie's arm lest he tumble back into the water.

"Easy, Buddy," he said. "Breathe slowly, all right?"

"What—" Wracking coughs interrupted him. "What happened?" he croaked out, turning bloodshot eyes upward.

"Someone was hiding in the pool house," Megan said from his other side. "David opened the door and he bolted. You were in his way so he, uh, moved you," she added with a tight smile. He laughed, but it was congested and not really amused.

"Yeah, I noticed that part."

Megan flashed another quick grin as he looked around.

"So where—"

"Colby went after him. You know how he likes to show off his sprinting." She winked and he laughed again.

Don had stood to take the blanket from the EMT and as he unfolded it, Megan helped Charlie stand.

"Don, I'm—"

"Soaking wet," Don interrupted, wrapping the blanket around him. "And it's like forty-five degrees out here, Charlie. I don't know if you noticed this in your classroom, but it's winter. And right now it's still dark out. The sun isn't even up yet."

Charlie sighed, but gave up protesting. Besides, the blanket _was_ warmer than his wet clothes alone.

"Go with Megan and let the EMTs check you out," Don ordered.

"But—"

"Humor me, all right? They came all the way out here and they might as well earn their pay. You stay there and tell Megan what you need and she'll get it for you, okay, Buddy?"

Charlie sighed and gripped the blanket tighter. "Yeah. Sure, Don."

"Okay." Don immediately turned and took control of the scene back, directing the numerous crime scene personnel as Megan escorted Charlie over to the open ambulance.

"What do you need, Charlie?" she asked when he was seated and the EMTs were checking him over.

"A less protective brother?" he muttered.

Megan grinned widely. "I'm an FBI agent, kid, not God."

Charlie laughed, letting it fade out after a moment. "Well, then, how about some measurements?" he said, looking around for his bag. He'd been in the middle of setting it down when he was pushed.

She held it up and he nodded. "Tape measure is in the outside pouch, notepad in the— Yeah, that one."

"Anything in particular?" she asked, now armed with the items he'd named.

"Everything."

She arched an eyebrow and he smiled. "But you can start with the distance between the, uh—" He swallowed. "—the, bod— body." He licked his lips and made a face at the taste.

"Ew. Chlorine."

"Between the body and . . ." she trailed off, amused but also chilled herself and more than ready to finish up here and move on.

"Sorry," he said, focusing again. "And the edges of the back yard. The hedges and the house and, " he waved a hand, "you know, everything."

She nodded. "And everything. Got it."

She went to start her work and Charlie hunkered down in the blankets, reluctantly surrendering his arm when the EMT on his right asked for it.

"Hey, Whiz kid," a voice said and he looked up. "How're you doing?"

"Oh, hey, Colby." He looked around. "Did you, uh, lose him?"

Colby smirked. "Are you kidding? Guy ran slower than the fat kids in boot camp. Nah, I left him with the cops. As much as I'd love to see what Don's gonna do to him, it should probably wait for interrogation." Colby's eyebrows danced up and down. "When he have videos and instant replay."

Charlie laughed and shook his head. "Feeling a little bloodthirsty, are we?"

Colby shrugged. "Adrenaline rush. They tend to have that effect on me."

"Good to know." He pointed a finger from where it was tucked in under the blanket. "My brother is waving at you."

Colby turned and Don's eyebrows rose.

Colby gave him a thumb's up in return.

Don nodded, glanced at Charlie with narrowed eyes, then looked back to Colby who repeated his thumb's up.

Another nod and then Don jerked his head toward David who was poking around the shrubbery near the house.

"Well, looks like I have work to do. See you around, Charlie."

"See ya," Charlie said and sighed when he was left alone again.

He felt eyes on him and looked up, snorting when he saw it was Don staring a hole through him.

He tried his own thumb's up and grin and Don looked away and focused on the tech at his elbow trying to explain something to him.

Charlie sighed and secured his hand under the blanket once more.

One of these days his brother would realize he was an adult. One of these days.

* * *

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	4. Yanked

**Prompt:** Yanked  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters:** Charlie, Amita, Don, mild Megan/Larry  
**Warnings:** language, brotherly schmoop out the wahoo, excessively hot men being hot, PWP without the pr0n (Plot What Plot?)  
**Genres:** Humor, Family, Fluff, Gen, Friendship, Pr0nless PWP (Plot? What Plot?)

**Summary:** This is delicate work, requiring a delicate hand and, well, Don just doesn't do _delicate_.

* * *

"Ow! That hurts, Donnie!"

"Then hold still, brat!"

A whimper escaped as Don gave another yank, but it didn't remotely solve the problem.

If anything it made it worse.

"Stop, okay? Just stop!"

Don sighed. "Fine. Fix it yourself. But next time, don't come to me, got it?"

Charlie glared, one hand hovering protectively over his head. "Don't worry. I won't. Mooooom!"

o.o

**TWENTY YEARS LATER  
**  
"Ow! Don! That hurts!"

"Yeah? Well maybe if you weren't twitching so much—"

"No, I'm pretty sure it's the fact that you are _pulling on my hair_ that is causing the problem. I'm only twitching because—OW!—because you're CAUSING ME PAIN. Dammit!"

"Look, Charlie—"

"Okay, stop! Just stop!" Charlie stepped away and put up his hands and Don mirrored the movement.

"Fine. Fine, fix it yourself then. Just like you did last ti— Oh WAIT. You _didn't_ fix it yourself last time, did you? Mom had to cut your hair."

"Because you made it worse!" Charlie threw at him.

Don shrugged. "You needed the cut anyway." He gave his brother another critical stare. "In fact, maybe that's the solution this time too."

Charlie's hand came up and he stepped back again. "Don't even think about it," he said, his flattened palm curling into one pointed finger of warning.

Megan entered the room, unscrewing the lid on the jar in her hands. "Here, I found it in the break room. You owe Colby a new jar by the way."

She dug out a generous gob of the creamy brown goop and smeared it on Charlie's hair.

"How the hell did you get bubble gum in your hair anyway, Charlie?" Don asked, watching Megan's expert hands work on the gooey sticky mess.

Charlie sighed. "Let's just say that I have now well and truly learned my lesson about volunteering to chaperone CalSci's girl's basketball team to their away game and leave it at that. Okay?"

Larry walked into the room with Amita at that very moment and Charlie's eyes closed in defeat.

"Oh my," Larry said as the two of them stopped in surprise.

"Charlie?" Amita asked, the laughter not nearly concealed in her tone.

"I see Brunhilde found you," Larry said. "I warned you not to let her talk you into anything. Hello, Megan. Don."

"Hi, Larry," Megan said, waggling her peanut butter covered fingers at him.

"No, Larry, I believe you said, 'Run for your very life if you see Professor Winters coming toward you'," Charlie corrected.

Larry shrugged. "I'm not sure how much more clear I could make that."

"He has a point, Buddy," Don said.

Charlie sighed and looked heavenward for patience. "Just kill me now. Please, someone, just kill me now."

"Nah," Don said. "I think we'll keep you. For entertainment value if nothing else." He sipped his coffee with a smile as Charlie leveled another glare.

"I hate you so much right now."

"I love you too, Buddy. I love you too."

* * *

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	5. Touch

**Prompt:** Touch  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Charlie/Amita  
**Warnings:** PWP without the pr0n (Plot What Plot?) (Mostly without the pr0n.)  
**Genres:** Fluff, Romance, Het, (Mostly) Pr0nless PWP (Plot? What Plot?)

**Summary:** It figures that one of the few things that makes Amita come undone occurs most frequently when Charlie is in front of a classroom full of students.

* * *

She didn't think of herself as a sensory person.

She was more . . . practical than that.

"Take this coefficient here . . ."

But there were moments, when she couldn't help it.

Rationality flew out the window and was replaced by the overwhelming urge to just _act_.

"See how you get that? It's simple really. Now, this second integer . . ."

Still, she had to give the appearance of rationality.

She was a professional and this was a classroom full of students.

"Now add those two together . . ."

She couldn't just stand up, walk down the stairs to the front of the room, and—

She swallowed and looked away, eyes skittering over the room until they landed on her notes.

"Multiply them, then do it again . . ."

Her notes which were _not_ about math.

Heat suffused her cheeks and she inched her textbook over to cover the scribblings.

"And then if you just . . . Amita?"

She couldn't look at him as she walked past. She couldn't.

That would be unprofessional.

"Uh . . . Will you excuse . . . Amita! Wait up!"

She stopped in the hall and waited until she heard the door click safely shut behind him.

Then she inhaled deeply.

"Amita?" He laughed lightly. "Was my lecture that—"

The rest of his question was cut off by her lips as she shoved him back against the wall and attacked his mouth.

He tensed in surprise, but only for a moment.

"Amit—" Kiss. "We shouldn't—" Kiss. "Public hallway—" Long drawn out kiss.

She pulled back and met his gaze—his glazed, unfocused, deliciously muddled gaze—and spoke.

"Charlie. If you continue to touch your hair in class every five seconds, we're going to get in a _lot_ of trouble. Do you understand?"

He blinked at her, then jerked and focused, a slow smile curving his lips.

She couldn't help kissing him again, and he obviously didn't mind since his hands came to rest on her hips and tugged her closer.

When they broke apart again, she rested her forehead on his.

"Go. Finish your lecture before one of your students comes out here to find out where you went."

"You're not coming back in?" he said, amusement thick in his tone.

She made a strangled sound in her throat.

She straightened, smoothing down his lapels, and then forced herself to step back.

"That would be a very bad idea," she said.

His grin stretched impossibly wide and she shivered and turned, snagging her bag and walking away as fast as she could without looking like she was in full retreat.

* * *

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	6. Stress

**Prompt:** Stress  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Charlie, Don, Colby, David, Megan, Alan  
**Warnings:** language, brotherly schmoop out the wahoo, excessively hot men being hot, PWP without the pr0n (Plot What Plot?)  
**Genres:** Drama, Family, Gen, Friendship, Pr0nless PWP (Plot? What Plot?)

**Summary:** When Charlie is stressed and overworked, he gets headaches. But not the kind you'd expect.

* * *

Colby joined Don at the section of the cube farm reserved for their team and sipped his coffee.

"He's going to go bald if he keeps pulling on his hair like that," he observed.

Don glanced over, then looked back, his brow furrowing as he watched his brother.

"Nah." He considered. "You think?"

Colby snorted. "Yeah, I do, Don. Kid's been in here how many hours a day working on this one?"

Don sighed and dug his fingers into his eye sockets. "Yeah, I know. I keep telling him to go home, but he just goes to the garage and keeps working." He shrugged in frustration and gulped some coffee. It wasn't really helping at this point, his body having adjusted to the regular caffeine infusion over the last week.

"But what can I do, Colby? It's a missing kid. You know how those are for trained agents. Charlie's . . ."

"Yeah. I know," he agreed grimly. "I'm not saying I don't understand. But if  
he stays at this level for much longer, I can't help but think that when he crashes it's gonna be bad. And I want to find the kid, I do, but . . ."

Don sighed again. "Yeah. I know." He stood and stretched, twisting his back until it popped like bubble wrap.

"I think we all need to take a break. Pizza at Charlie's place?"

Colby nodded. "I'll get Megan and David."

Don nodded and then downed the last of his cooled coffee and headed into the War Room to collect his little brother.

"Charlie."

Muttering continued uninterrupted indicating Charlie was deep in Mathland.

"_Charlie_," he repeated louder.

A flicker of eyes, but the mumbles didn't stop or even slow.

Don walked over and pushed the lid of the laptop down, nearly catching Charlie's fingers

"Huh?" Charlie blinked and then squinted his bloodshot eyes at Don. "Oh. Hey, Don."

He acted like he was aware, but the fact that his hands were trying to pry the computer back open betrayed the fact that that was not actually the case.

"Charlie," Don said, enunciating and holding onto Charlie's chin to make sure his eyes stayed focused on him.

Charlie blinked rapidly, then sagged slightly, his body finally recognizing it was exhausted now that the train of numbers had been momentarily derailed.

"Don?" he said, mildly confused.

He looked around and, since he seemed to actually be present and accounted for, Don let him go and straightened.

"What . . . what's up?"

Even his voice was ragged and Don frowned. How burned out was he that he hadn't notcied until now that Charlie was riding the fine line between wired alertness and a zombie-like stupor?

"Come on, Buddy. Let's go home." He got a hand wrapped around Charlie's arm and tugged him to his feet.

"What? Did—" he coughed, clearing his throat, then said, "Did we find her?"

"Not yet, Charlie."

"Nononono," Charlie said, turning and trying to break free. "I have to— If I can just—" He manged to get the lid up and his fingers flew over the keyboard before Don pulled him away again.

That didn't stop his fingers from continuing to type on the air.

A whimper escaped Charlie's throat and Don's chest tightened.

He should never have let it get this bad. He shouldn't have let Charlie get this involved.

"We'll come back, Buddy. But we need to take a break."

"A b-break? A _break?_"

He went from confused and desperate to angry in the space between words.

"Some little girl is out there, away from her home and her family and with some— some _psycho_ doing who knows _what_ to her and— and you want to take a _break?!_"

Don pushed his own exhaustion down and kept his voice calm.

"Charlie—"

But Charlie wasn't having this. He yanked his arm free and glared at his brother. "You go take a break if you need to, Don. I have work to do."

Don's temper snapped at that, the condescending tone that said Don needed to go and leave Charlie alone because Charlie had _important things_ to do.

It was rare, but when it came out it had a single response from Don.

He grabbed Charlie and slammed him against the wall, their noses separated by a bare inch.

"Don't give me that bullshit, Charlie."

"What bullshit?" Charlie demanded. "I'm sorry, I thought this was _your job_. I wasn't aware that saving a little girl's life was just a _hobby_ for you!"

"Fuck that," Don said, pulling his brother forward by the fistfuls of his shirt held in white-knuckled grips, then slamming him back into the wall. "Fuck you and your superior 'I can save the fucking world if you idiots would leave me alone' attitude.

"You're right. This _is_ my job, Charlie. It's _my_ job. It's _not_ yours. You are the one that has made this a fucking _hobby_." And I'm sorry if your  
damn numbers haven't give you the fucking answer. But sometimes that's how it works."

Don released him, stepping back and running a hand through his hair.

There weren't many left in the office this time of day and everyone but his team was working on quietly.

David, Colby, and Megan were watching, wary, tensed for an escalation.

Charlie stayed against the wall, hands splayed as if for balance, head bowed.

Don paced a few steps away and back, trying to reign in his temper and finding it harder to do than he liked.

When he was sure he could speak without yelling again, he said, "I know how you're feeling, Charlie."

"Do you?"

"Hell yeah. Hell fucking yeah. You think this is _my_ first missing child case? It's not easy, Charlie. It's not supposed to be. It never gets easier, knowing it's a kid out there, missing, probably terrified and hoping someone will come save the day like damn Superman.

"But if you let that be your focus—"

"That's not it."

The quiet admission stopped Don in his tracks.

"What?"

Charlie's hand came up, his splayed fingers pressing into his forehead.

"It's— That's not what has me so . . ." He waved a hand wildly by his head.

"Then what is it?"

Charlie's eyes closed. "You're going to think it's stupid." He winced. "And it probably will sound a lot like that 'superior attitude' you mentioned."

"Yeah, well, I'm used to that by now."

Charlie's eyes flicked up and a tiny smile curved one side of his lips.

"Mostly," Don amended. "Now what's the problem?"

Charlie sighed again. "It's just . . ." Frustration twisted his face. "I'm not used to not having the answers."

Don wasn't the only one that snorted and Charlie glanced over at the others, flushing when he realized he had an audience.

"No, I mean . . ."

"You're too damned smart," Don said. "That's what you mean."

Annoyance was the look Charlie shot him at that. It made Don grin a little.

"It's okay, Buddy," he said, squeezing Charlie's shoulder. "It happens to everyone. Even geniuses like you."

Annoyance became pure poison.

Don grinned. "Now come on. We're going to go eat some pizza and talk about something not related to work for a few hours and maybe sleep if we can and then int he morning we'll try again."

Charlie's gaze strayed to the War Room where his laptop waited. He bit his lip wistfully.

Don pulled him away from the wall and forcefully turned Charlie toward the elevator.

"Nope. If it comes home you won't be able to do anything but want to work on it."

"But—"

"Charlie. Trust me on this. Fresh eyes will help. We're not doing anything worth doing here right now. We need this."

Charlie sighed and gave in.

Of course, they were already in the elevator so it was sort of a moot point by then.

"A few hours," he muttered.

"Yeah, Buddy," Don said, patting his shoulder. "Just a few hours and you can come back."

o.o

They weren't home ten minutes and Charlie was passed out on the couch.

He didn't even stay awake long enough to eat.

"You going to wake him?" David asked.

"Nah," Don said, taking a slice of the hot pie. "He can eat in the morning. If I wake him now he won't sleep again for days."

They ate their pizza and quietly discussed mundane things until everyone was blinking and yawning.

It seemed harsh, but they all knew it was a necessary disconnect. They had to find a way to shut off or they'd burn out too fast.

"Go home, everyone," Don said when he was beginning to doubt their ability to get home safely. "We'll start fresh in the morning."

Nods and mumbled agreements followed, but no one stood.

"You're driving," Colby said, blinking heavily.

"Only if you want to get in an accident," David countered, leaning his head back.

Colby grunted, but it was obviously not the coherent response it was supposed to be.

Don glanced at Megan to see she'd fallen asleep already, her head balanced on her propped fist.

He snorted, then looked back at the other two.

David was snoring lightly through his open mouth and if Colby's blinks got much longer they would no longer fit that classification.

"Stop fighting it, Granger," Don said.

Colby frowned and tried to focus on him.

"Give up. Go to sleep."

Colby blinked twice more, then shrugged slightly and laid his head back.

He was snoring within a breath.

Don smiled slightly, then let his own head fall back and let exhaustion claim him.

o.o

Alan was up early the next morning to find his youngest working on a laptop at the kitchen table, which wasn't unusual.

The four FBI agents passed out in various uncomfortable positions in his living room were slightly more so.

Charlie glanced up. "Morning, Dad," he said and drank from his mug.

"Charlie?"

"Don was right. Fresh eyes." He grinned, face lighting up. "I figured it out."

"I'm so happy. What did you figure out?"

"Where she is. I found her!"

"That little girl that went missing?"

Charlie grinned and nodded. "Yeah."

"Well that's wonderful!" His smiled faded. "What aren't you waking up your brother?"

Charlie waved it off. "I called it in. Director Merrick said he would handle it."

"You don't think your brother would want to be in on the, uh, raid or whatever they call it?"

Charlie shrugged. "Probably. But they're finally sleeping. I'm not sure the—" He checked his watch. "Two and a half hours of sleep they've gotten this week would really be enough."

Alan gave him a Look.

Charlie shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "Actually, Director Merrick said not to wake them. He said they wouldn't be allowed to go anyway."

"Ah," Alan said. "All right then." He looked at them again, sprawled over chairs and on the floor and shook his head.

"They're going to hurt when they wake up."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed absently, already back to work. "Probably."

Alan grunted and reached out to ruffle Charlie's hair.

Charlie jerked and hissed, hunching away from his hand.

"Are you okay?" Alan asked, concerned.

"Yeah, uh . . ." Charlie gave a sheepish grin.

"Headache?" Alan said gently.

"Uh, no, actually."

Alan frowned. "What's wrong?"

"He's been pulling his hair out over this case," Don said, padding into the room. "Literally."

Alan sighed. "Donnie, you're supposed to watch out for your brother. Even if that means protecting him from himself."

Both of them scowled at that.

"We're not in high school anymore, Dad!" Charlie protested

"Yeah," Don said, taking a seat at the table. "Exactly. In high school I could do this job by myself. Now it takes four of us and sometimes that's not even enough." He waved at the living room where the other three were still sleeping.

"What about Larry and Amita?" Alan said. "He needs two separate teams to keep up with him."

Don flicked a hand. "Exactly." He reached out toward Charlie's head but a flinch and raised hands warded him off.

Don withdrew his hand and shrugged. "I rest my case."

Charlie let his head drop into his hands with a groan, then whimpered at the contact. "Ow."

* * *

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	7. Obsessed

**Prompt:** Obsessed  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Charlie, Don, OFCs  
**Warnings:** excessively hot men being hot, PWP without the pr0n (Plot What Plot?)  
**Genres:** Humor, Family, Fluff, Gen, Pr0nless PWP (Plot? What Plot?)

**Summary:** Interviews make Charlie nervous. But he's about to discover a whole new reason to be afraid.

* * *

"We're here today with Dr. Charles Eppes, a professor in Applied Mathematics at the California Institute of Science," Brenda said to the camera, then turned and favored him with a blinding smile.

Charlie returned it, though he had a feeling his expression looked more like a cornered animal in the blinding glare of headlights. Why had he let Millie talk him into this again?

Oh right. Fundraising for the department. Dammit.

Maybe they didn't _really_ need that new server. They could get by with the ones they had for another year or—

"Doctor Eppes?"

He blinked and swallowed and focused on Brenda's face.

"Hi, yes, sorry. What was the question?"

She smiled at him, less blinding and more reassuring. "Take a breath, Charlie. Remember to breathe. This isn't live. It's just us here in the studio."

He smiled back weakly and took her advice.

She let him do that a few times, then said, "Better?"

He nodded. "Yes. Sorry."

"It's fine. Okay, let's try that again shall we?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Okay. Sorry."

"No worries. Okay." She paused a beat, composed her face, then said, "You've been helping your brother, Special Agent Don Eppes, solve crimes with the FBI for three years now, right?"

"Yes, uh," he sat up straighter in his chair and tried not to think about the camera moving as it focused on him. "Three—" He paused and thought about that.

Really?

Well, it was back when—

Wow. Huh.

"Charlie?" she prompted in a whisper.

He jumped. "Right! Um, I mean, that's right. Three years."

"Now you're not an actual FBI agent, right?"

"No. No, I'm just a consultant." He laughed again. "I don't, uh, carry a gun or a badge or anything like that."

"So what _do_ you do, as a consultant?"

"Ah, well, I do the math." He grinned and she returned it. "Um, no, really, I just, well . . ." He leaned forward. "Okay, say there was a fugitive and the FBI was trying to figure out where to look for them. They know the person is hiding somewhere in Los Angeles."

He smiled. "Now, obviously LA isn't an area they can really search effectively building by building. The fugitive has a very good chance of evading capture indefinitely, or even escaping. I might use pursuit curves to help them narrow down the probable paths the fugitive would take so they are more likely to find them."

She smiled, but seemed duly impressed. "Wow! I guess my Algebra teacher wasn't lying when she said we'd use this again someday!"

He chuckled. "That's . . . not Algebra."

She waved it off. "Well, I failed Algebra anyway."

He nodded. Yeah, somehow that didn't surprise him.

"So you help them catch fugitives. What about bank robberies or anything like that? Math has to be good for financial crimes, right?"

"Oh, yeah. The applications for white collar crime are limitless."

This wasn't so hard, actually, once they were talking about the math and he could forget about the cameras.

For twenty minutes they discussed—in general terms, of course—the cases he'd helped Don and his team with.

Then the questions took a . . . slightly more alarming turn.

"So, when we announced a few weeks ago that we were going to do an interview with you, we asked our viewers for questions they wanted to ask you. Are you ready?"

"Yeah," he said with a wave of his hand. "Go ahead."

"Okay, first up." She dug into the bag next to her chair and pulled out a letter.

"From Sarah in La Mirada: Dear Professor Eppes,

"Are you an _actual_ genius or one of those people who only says they are but has never been tested?"

Charlie blinked. "Uh . . . What? Is that . . . Does it really say that?"

Brenda laughed. "Yeah. But we can skip it if you'd prefer. We've got a lot more to choose from."

"No, no that's fine. Um." He shook his head in amusement. "I actually _have_ been tested, Sarah?" he asked.

Brenda nodded.

"Yeah, uh . . . Several times actually. When I was a kid and then again when I was in college and once or twice since then."

"And what _is_ your IQ?" Brenda asked.

"Heh, uh, you know, I don't really _like_ IQ tests. They're— Well, most of them aren't very objective and, I mean, who's to say what is a measure of intelligence anyway? Now, measuring cognitive abilities in terms of—"

A door opened in the back of the studio and Charlie saw Don enter.

"In terms of . . ." he mumbled, brows drawing down.

A very harried young woman with a clipboard and headset that had been stressed all morning went straight to Don and began a very quiet, but very thorough dressing down from the looks of it.

Don just flashed his badge and looked around until he saw Charlie.

He jerked his head in a hello, and stared across the sound stage.

"You can't—" The dressing down was no longer quiet. "NO, WAIT!"

Don was detained by the young woman who latched onto his arm and dug in her heels. He wasn't going to drag her, so he rolled his eyes and turned to talk.

"Charlie?" Brenda said.

"One seventy-eight."

"What?" Brenda blinked.

"My— My IQ. It's . . . one seventy-eight." He frowned.

He wasn't paying attention to her really, focused instead on Don and the rather excitable girl who was _literally_ jumping up and down and poking Don in the chest with a very sharp finger.

It was terrifying and amusing to think that someone who probably didn't make five feet in heels was taking on his brother like that. Not that Don was a physically large man, but he had that sort of FBI presence that most people didn't question.

And a gun on his hip.

"Very impressive, Dr. Eppes," Brenda said. "Next question. Annabeth from San Diego wants to know what kind of shampoo you use."

"I—" His head whipped back around. "Wait, _what?!_"

Don was forgotten, Charlie's attention fully focused on Brenda now. "It does not say that."

Brenda laughed. "It does." She handed him the card and he took it and read it, then frowned.

"Why? Why would someone want to know what kind of _shampoo_ I use?"

Brenda shrugged. "Fans obsess over strange things."

"Wow," Charlie ran a hand through his hair self-consciously. "I've had _fans_ before, but, uh, not . . . not like this."

"You do now." She gave him an appraising survey. "And you _do_ have nice hair."

Charlie couldn't help the look he gave her.

"Sorry to interrupt, Charlie," Don said, stepping up onto the dais. Behind him stood the director—stage manager, whatever she was—seething and trying to burn a hole through his head with her eyes alone. "I need to borrow you. We got the tapes."

"We did?" Charlie shot up out of the chair and started to walk away, hoping the relief on his face wasn't that obvious.

"But—" Brenda said.

Don half turned and flashed a smile. "Sorry. FBI business. I'll bring him back." He faced forward and picked up the pace, prompting Charlie to do the same.

"You will not bring me back!" Charlie hissed. "Millie can find her funding somewhere else!"

Don just grinned. "Aw, come on, Charlie—"

"No. Just . . . No." He shuddered and Don laughed.

Once they were outside the stage and the door was shut Don said, "We found the tapes in Bronson's office by the way. Along with his very detailed records. We don't need you to analyze them now."

Charlie blinked. "Then why . . .?"

Don shrugged and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't say I never do anything for you, Chuck."

* * *

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	8. Found

**Prompt:** Found  
**Rating:** eT  
**Characters:** Charlie, Don, OFC  
**Warnings:** language, shameless ogling by an OFC, angst like whoas, brotherly schmoop out the wahoo, excessively hot men being hot, PWP without the pr0n (Plot What Plot?)  
**Genres:** Hurt/Comfort, Family, Angst, Gen, Pr0nless PWP (Plot? What Plot?)

**Summary:** Don didn't even know anything was lost.

* * *

"Hi, Special Agent Don Eppes." I looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of an ID wallet being flashed at me, then he was moving on, looking around as he spoke. "I was told you had someone here in your ER that I would want to see?"

"Name of the— Oh wait, you're the FBI guy?"

He smiled and my heart stopped for just a second as I was taken back to my wasted youth spent sighing over David Duchovny and my brief desire to join the Bureau. Who knew FBI agents actually came that good looking in reality?

"I am," he said with a nod.

I let my eyes skim over what I could see of him behind the counter and had to swallow a fresh sigh for the new government-issued hottie for my relationship-starved brain to fantasize over.

Diedra, my fellow check-in desk jockey, elbowed me and coughed, jolting me back to reality.

"Sorry, uh," I smiled weakly. "It's been a long night."

He flashed another hint of that smile and I had to grip the desk to keep from sitting abruptly in my chair.

"Uh, right. The, uh, John Doe." I grabbed the chart and rounded the desk, waving for him to follow. "We actually weren't the ones who flagged him. The LAPD officer who brought him in was the one who suggested we call you."

Special Agent Eppes' eyebrow rose and my heart skipped a beat in my chest. If I wasn't a registered nurse, I'd probably make an appointment with my cardiologist because too many more of those and I'd be thinking I was having a heart attack.

"What was the officer's name?"

"Lieutenant . . . um . . ." I had to check the chart because my brain wasn't really focused on some older cop's name right then. "Gary Walker."

Eppes frowned. "Huh. Wonder why he thought this was something I'd want to know about."

I shrugged. "He was called away on another problem and didn't say. Just said to contact you and tell you to come down. Mentioned you by name though."

"Yeah, that's what Control said." He shrugged too, and I had to look at the file again or risk tripping over my own feet. He was dressed in a suit, but it was obviously the end of his day because the jacket was gone and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, baring his forearms.

The guy had some really _nice_ forearms, you know? He was obviously in excellent shape—not surprising considering his job—but it made me curious as to what the rest of him looked like.

Purely in a professional sense, of course. _Down, girl._

"So what brought this John Doe to your domain?" he asked, smiling. I couldn't see it, but I could hear it and even that was enough to give me shivers.

Damn. He ought to come with a warning label.

"Uhhh, Lieutenant Walker said he was found over on the east side." I checked the triage sheet and whistled. "Wow. Guy's lucky to be alive. Multiple abrasions, severe contusions all over his body, three lacerations totaling seventeen stitches, and . . . looks like a concussion. MRI came back clean though, so that's good. He'll be in a helluva lot of pain for the next little while, but he'll survive. He's getting a couple of pints of blood and our Saturday-night special. That's a cocktail of antibiotics, vitamins, and general immune system boosters," I explained.

He nodded, his whole attention focused on me and I almost swallowed my tongue.

I looked away and realized we were at the cubicle. "Here we are," I said and pulled back the curtain to reveal our mystery patient as I walked in.

It took me another two steps to realize I was alone. I stopped and looked back to see Eppes had gone sheet white and looked about to faint.

A glance at the patient showed he was still in the same condition as the last glimpse I'd gotten. Not pretty, but stable. You'd think an FBI Agent would have a stronger stomach.

Unless . . .

"Do you know—" I started to ask.

A strangled sound and a rush of expelled air—like someone had just been punched—drew my attention back to Eppes. He looked even worse than before, if that was possible without him _actually_ being injured.

Oh.

Oh damn.

From the level of shock and devastation on his face I could only assume that this guy was either a relative or lover. Based on similarity of their appearances, I'd say the former. Age differences said probably a younger brother.

I hurried to the next cubicle that was empty and grabbed the chair that had been left behind, dragging it back to Agent Eppes and pushing him down to sit before he passed out on me.

He really did look like he was about to check out completely on me—if he hadn't already.

"Agent Eppes?" I called his name a few times without response and was about to go get a cart to start treating him for shock when he blinked and jerked, then looked at me.

"What?" he said dazedly.

I'm a shame to my profession, I know, but damn if he wasn't even _more_ sexy when he was all exposed and vulnerable like that.

Hey, I'm a healthy red-blooded female. So sue me.

"He's going to be okay," I said gently. "I know it looks bad, but it really is mostly superficial. There were some concerns when he arrived, but he's responding well to all his treatments and, except for maybe the stitches, I doubt he'll have any lingering reminders of this night."

He nodded, but his eyes were still a little vacant, and I knew I'd have to repeat that a few more times before it sank in.

It would help when his brother woke up too.

"Would you like me to go find his doctor so you can get a full explanation of what's going on and ask any questions you have?"

He swallowed and nodded again, his eyes going back to his brother.

"What's his name?" I asked, both for the chart and because I was genuinely curious.

"Charlie," he said softly, leaning forward to where he could reach out and touch the still arm on the bed. "His name's—" He swallowed again, blinking rapidly, and pulled back before he made actual contact. "His name's Charlie."

"You can touch him," I said. "He's pretty out of it right now and he's got enough painkillers in him to make an elephant feel good anyway. Besides, I think knowing he's not alone would help his recovery."

He glanced at me, gratitude briefly shining through, then reached forward again, this time laying his hand on the purpled skin of Charlie's arm.

"I'll go get his doctor," I said and excused myself.

The last thing I heard was a soft, "Hey, Buddy, I'm here. I don't know what the hell you were doing in East LA at ten o'clock at night, or why you couldn't call me _before_ you got the crap beat out of you, but it's okay. I'm here now."

I glanced back as I shut the curtain and saw the agent's other hand was resting on the dark curls of his brother's head, his thumb stroking over the surprisingly unblemished skin of his forehead.

"Everything's gonna be okay, Charlie. I'm here."

* * *

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	9. Strand By Strand

**Prompt:** Strand-By-Strand  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters:** Don, Colby  
**Warnings:** language, brother!worry, excessively hot men being hot, PWP without the pr0n (Plot What Plot?)  
**Genres:** Angst, Family, Fluff, Gen, Friendship, Pr0nless PWP (Plot? What Plot?)

**Summary:** Haste makes waste. It also pisses off the SAC of the Violent Crimes Squad.

* * *

"I don't CARE about how much you have on your plate right now! Get me his damn class list!"

"Don?"

He slammed the phone down on the set and spun around. "What!?"

Colby's eyebrow arched, but he didn't back down. This wasn't the first time he'd seen his boss like this and it sure as hell wasn't going to be the last. "Forensics came back on Charlie's office."

"And?" Don demanded, snatching the folder out of Colby's hand and opening it.

"Nothing conclusive so far—"

The folder was snapped shut. "Dammit, Colby—"

"Hey!" Colby interrupted sharply.

Don glared and Colby returned it as he said slowly, "I told them to redo it. Check every hair strand-by-strand if they have to."

Don dropped into his chair, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Thanks. Sorry."

Colby patted his shoulder, then gave it a squeeze. "It's okay, boss, I understand. Kid's like a brother to me too, you know?"

Don glanced up, smiling wanly. "Yeah," he said softly. "I know."

"We'll find him, Don. And we'll put the bastards that took him behind bars for the rest of their natural lives."

Don wiped a hand over his face.

"And if you need to talk—"

Don looked up in surprise.

Colby tossed a thumb at the War Room. "—Megan said she's available any time day or night."

Don laughed, his shoulders sagging with the momentary relief the release of tension brought.

"Thanks, Colb. I'll keep that in mind."

Colby smiled. "You do that, boss." He picked up the folder and held it up. "I'm gonna go scare some lab techs."

"Okay," Don said. "I'm gonna . . ." He blew out a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Get some more coffee."

He paused to look at the photo tacked to his cubicle wall of Charlie and the rest of his team at one of the community events the FBI had participated in last year as part of a PR campaign. He remade his silent vow to find his brother and bring him back home again.

God help anyone who stood in his way.

* * *

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	10. Tousled

**Prompt:** Tousled  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Don, Charlie  
**Warnings:** brotherly schmoop out the wahoo, excessively hot men being hot, PWP without the pr0n (Plot What Plot?)  
**Genres:** Family, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Pr0nless PWP (Plot? What Plot?)

**Summary:** It's all part of the job description.

* * *

"Don? What are you doing?"

Don turned to see his brother standing in the doorway to the kitchen, one hand scratching his sleep-tousled hair, his heavy-lidded eyes blinking rapidly under furrowed brows.

"Making breakfast?" was the reply. "Have a seat."

Charlie didn't move, except to deepen the frown. "Why?"

Don shrugged and slid the spatula under the pancake, flipping it over. "Why not?"

Charlie's expression went a little blank as he obviously took that for a non-rhetorical question.

Don rolled his eyes and said, "Charlie—" Not even a flicker of response. "_Charlie_."

"Huh? Wha—" He broke off to yawn, then blink some more. "Sorry. What?"

"Sit down."

Charlie shuffled forward and dropped heavily into a chair, burying his face in his hands and scrubbing harshly.

Don studied him as he moved the pancake to the plate and turned off the stove.

"How much sleep did you get last night anyway?" he asked as he set the plate on the table and took his own seat.

"Uhhhhh," Charlie said. He lifted his head and sniffed. "It was this morning and . . . Half an hour?"

"For the love of— Charlie!"

"Don, I tried. I did. But I used my old trick of calculating digits of pi and—"

Don sighed and shook his head, forking a pancake on his brother's plate when Charlie didn't seem inclined to do so—or aware that the option was even there.

"Eat," he ordered, holding up the syrup bottle.

Charlie looked at it. Looked down at the pancake. Looked up at Don.

"Charlie," Don repeated more gently. "Eat. If you're not going to sleep you have to at least supply the extra energy your body needs to run."

Charlie shrugged, bobbing his head to the side, and accepted the syrup. "Thanks." He looked down, then glanced back up, smiling shyly. "And, uh, thanks for breakfast."

Don chuckled and shook his head again. "Don't worry about it. All part of the job description."

Charlie frowned in genuine confusion. "It's part of your job as an FBI agent to make me breakfast?"

Don nearly spit his coffee out. "What? No, Charlie! Part of being a big brother!" He laughed at the pure befuddlement of Charlie's expression.

Then it sank in and Charlie's face cleared. "Ohhh. Okay." He smiled and ducked his head. "I knew that."

Don reached out and ruffled his hair. "Yeah you did."

"Shut up. I'm sleep deprived."

Some days Don worried that his brother was never going to quite get the hang of being an adult.

And some days, he sincerely hoped for it.

* * *

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	11. Kid

Thanks to all my reviewers for your lovely words! One day I'll be finished with school and have time to respond to your reviews individually. I hope. -_-;

Thanks especially to An-Jelly-Ca who reviewed every chapter and made me feel guilty for not updating in forever. This one's for you, honey. :)

**Prompt:** Kid**  
Rating:** K+**  
Characters:** Don, Charlie, Colby, David, Megan**  
Warnings:** language, brotherly schmoop out the wahoo, excessively hot men being hot, PWP without the pr0n (Plot What Plot?)**  
Genres:** Humor, Family, Fluff, Gen, Friendship, Pr0nless PWP (Plot? What Plot?)

**Summary:** When touring an FBI field office, it's best to remember the rules: 1. Don't touch the evidence. 2. Don't make 'bomb' jokes. 3. You cannot fire the guns. 4. Those 'girls' can kick your ass. 5. Mocking the FBI consultants will not make you friends. 6. Especially when they're the little brother of the Violent Crimes Squad Leader.

* * *

"I didn't know the FBI did 'bring your kid to work' days."

Colby frowned and stopped his explanation of the Violent Crimes Squad's duties. "Excuse me?"

The cop, one of several who were here as part of an initiative to make friends between the FBI and local law enforcement, was probably nearing retirement, and fairly stereotypical as far as grizzled old school cops went.

He'd even made a comment or two about female agents that had Colby quite amused that Megan was going to be the one to take them down to the training area/gym.

See if he could keep his outdated notions about the place for females in law enforcement when Megan laid his ass out on the mats.

He pointed and Colby followed the finger to see it was aimed at Charlie who was sitting on the edge of Don's desk and—okay, the fact that he was doing a Rubix Cube didn't exactly discourage the notion that he wasn't an FBI agent or even an adult.

Still, that kid probably had a higher IQ than this entire tour group. And certainly a better solve rate percentage-wise.

"That's Professor Charles Eppes," Colby said. "He's a consultant for the Bureau—and the LAPD on occasion."

The cop snorted. "That kid? One of those whattayacallums? The, uh, retards that can do the number tricks. Like what's his name in that one movie." He snapped his fingers.

Colby let his gaze drop momentarily, huffing a laugh. "Rainman?" he said.

"Yeah! With Dustin Hoffman."

How the hell was this guy still on the force? He had to have at least one EO suit pending against him. At _least_ one.

Colby thought most people took 'political correctness' too far, but this guy made a convincing argument for stricter regs.

"No," the agent said. "Charlie is not like Rainman, though is a math professor."

"Hey, Colby," Don said, clapping the younger man on the shoulder. "What's up?"

"Don, this is the group of LAPD officers and detectives that we're supposed to be making friends with." Colby gestured at Don. "This is my team leader, Special Agent Don Eppes."

"Oh yeah-yeah, I remember getting the memo on this. Hi," Don said, shaking hands with each officer in turn.

"Agent _Eppes_?" one of the younger—and far more polite—officers said. "Are you and Professor Eppes—"

"We're brothers, yeah," Don said with a grin. "Hey Charlie! Come over here!"

Charlie looked up from his puzzle, then hopped down and made his way through the bullpen toward them.

"Yeah, Don? What's up?"

"This is my little brother and math geek extraordinaire, Dr. Charlie Eppes," Don said.

Charlie gave Don a dirty look, but he smiled when he said, "Hi," and shook hands around the circle.

"Charlie, these are some of the local cops—"

"Right. I remember. Make Friends with the Cops Day. Hi."

Another of the young cops said, "So, you actually use _math_ to help the FBI solve crimes?"

"Hell yeah," Don said, grinning. "Charlie can do all sorts of things with his numbers."

Charlie laughed in that way that said he was both amused and annoyed with his brother. "What my brother means is—"

"Charlie!" David called. "I got the files."

"Ooh!" He started to leave, then turned back, though his footsteps still carried him toward the War Room where David had gone. "Uh, sorry, I have to—" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and Don waved.

"Sure, Charlie. Go do your thing."

Charlie smiled and held up a hand. "Nice meeting you all."

Then he turned and jogged off.

The older cop snorted. "Unbelievable."

Don's head jerked to the side slightly as his eyes narrowed, though his smile stayed in place. "What is, Detective?"

"Just the way they keep bringing in these kids with their fancy degrees and shit. They're gonna try and replace us with computers before you know it. But nothing beats good old fashioned hands-on investigating."

"I agree," Don said, his voice still polite and his smile friendly.

Colby had to cough to cover his laugh. Here it came . . .

"But nothing also beats letting a _kid_ with his _fancy degree_ crunch some numbers for half an hour and save me six hours of phone calls and three hours of knocking on doors in the hopes that _one_ neighbor saw enough of the suspect's car to enable me to put out a BOLO that may or may _not_ generate a few tips that _might_ lead to the location and apprehension of a suspect."

Don poked at the detective's chest. "And certainly nothing beats that same _kid's_ number crunching leading me right to the suspect on the first try.

"Charlie's not a substitute for a trained agent with a well honed instinct and years of experience. But he's a whole helluva lot more efficient than an entire task force pounding the streets looking for clues that we already have if we know how to look for them."

Colby kept his mouth shut and his gaze averted, but he couldn't help his eye brows rising or smug tilt to his lips, no matter how hard he tried.

Don nodded politely to the other officers, then turned and left, heading to the War Room, probably to see if Charlie needed any more data—or if he already had their answer.

"Any questions?" Colby asked. "Okay. I've got to get back to work, but Special Agent Reeves will be taking you downstairs to show you the training areas." He turned. "Megan!"

Her head popped up from her cubicle. "Yeah! Oh," she said, upon seeing the officers. "Is it ten? Damn. Okay." She hurried over to meet them, handing Colby a folder. "Give this to Don, will you?"

"You got it." He lowered his voice and leaned in. "And good luck."

She gave him a look and he just grinned.

"Okay!" she said, turning to the group. "I'm Special Agent Megan Reeves . . ."

Colby chuckled and watched them board the elevator, then turned and entered the War Room.

"From Megan," he said as he handed Don the folder.

He took a seat on the edge of the table where Charlie was tapping away at his laptop.

"Hey, Whiz Kid," he said, ruffling Charlie's hair. "You got our answers yet?"

"Hey!" Charlie protested, ducking away. "I'm trying to work here. And no. I haven't even finished entering the data." He glared. "Unless you want to help—"

Colby stood, hands going up. "No, I'm good, really. Thanks."

"I have an open spot on this laptop," David offered.

"Looks occupied to me," Colby said and went to go sit with Don in the peanut gallery.

David shook his head and Charlie snorted, but went back to his work instead of pursuing it.

"So, uh, what happened after I left?" Charlie asked.

"What do you mean?" Colby asked.

"Well, Don was a little pissed when he came in here—"

Don snorted. "I wasn't pissed."

"Uh, yeah, you kind of were, Don," David countered with a half laugh.

Don glared.

"But it was with good cause," Colby reassured him.

He got a glare too.

"Why?" Charlie asked. "What did—"

"Nothing," Don said, warning his agents with a look. "One of the detectives—" And wow was that a lot of scorn packed into that one word. "—was afraid you're going to steal his job someday."

Charlie laughed in genuine amusement. "What? Geeks instead of cops? Yeah, right."

"That's what I said," Don agreed. "You're useful, don't get me wrong, but that doesn't mean I want to send you out with a gun to confront a cornered suspect."

Colby and David laughed outright at that image and Charlie shook his head.

"Thank you, no. I am perfectly content to stay here and—Ah! Got it."

Don and Colby both perked up and David said, "What've you got, Charlie?"

Charlie launched into his math explanation and Colby let it flow through his ears, paying attention in case something miraculously jumped out at him, but missing the significance of most of it.

But for all the work and time and lives he saved them, Colby figured it was a small price to pay to let the kid ramble on a bit about the numbers he loved.

* * *

Review, plz&thx.


	12. Blush

**Prompt:** Blush**  
Rating:** K+**  
Characters:** Charlie, Amita, Megan, Colby  
**Warnings:** schmoopy smushy fluffiness, excessively hot men being hot, PWP without the pr0n (Plot What Plot?)**  
Genres:** Humor, Friendship, Fluff, Gen, Romance, Het, Pr0nless PWP (Plot? What Plot?)

**Summary:** Innocent and intimate are not always mutually exclusive ideas.

* * *

Megan thought that there were quite a few amusing things about Charlie and Amita's relationship.

The fact that they took so long to realize that they couldn't expect their relationship to be like others.

The way they seemed like kids on the playground one moment—innocent in their love and chaste in their displays of affection—and the next were playing games that made even some of her fellow agents blush with the blatant nature of their flirting.

Though some of them blushed more easily than others.

David didn't really blush thanks to his dark skin tone, but Megan had a feeling he would have been anytime the two of them shared one of their 'evolutionary kisses' as Larry called them—the kind that started with a peck on the lips and gradually deepened until they were almost pornographic.

Colby usually found a reason to leave before he blushed, but it happened during briefings sometimes, generally when a pet name slipped out—from Amita usually—and Charlie would give her this look that was half scolding/half salacious smirk.

For a long time Megan thought Don wasn't capable of being embarrassed by his little brother's romance and lack of PDA control.

Until the day the elevator opened and an impatient Don found himself almost walking into the middle of a fairly intense make-out moment.

Oh yes, Don Eppes was _definitely_ capable of being embarrassed.

Larry was probably the easiest of their little circle when it came to blushing brought on by his young friend's behavior.

Not that he wasn't happy for Charlie and Amita, but it took barely more than a kiss on the lips to have him stammering an excuse and retreating in flames.

Megan knew she wasn't immune either.

Her teammates thought she was, but that was only because her trigger was so uncommon that none of them had witnessed it.

Charlie was often distracted. Amita less so, but still more than most non-academic people. Rarely were both of them fully distracted at once.

Even more rare was joint distraction so severe that they would unconsciously drift into each other's personal bubble and just... not drift back out.

Like gravity, she'd told Larry once.

They would reach a state of such complete inattentiveness that they would slowly get closer and closer and not even realize it.

And then it would happen.

"You see?" Charlie asked, voice soft in the hush that had fallen over the office this late at night.

Amita's hand found its way to his shoulder, but neither seemed to notice as they regarded the boards before them.

"I think so," she said cautiously. "But I think this right here—"

She pointed to one of the squiggles that might have been a number or a letter and explained her issue with it, but Megan was actually more interested in the way her hand was slowly sliding across Charlie's shoulder to his neck.

He turned to look at her, smiling, and she gave him a quick-flash grin of her own.

"Yeah, okay," he said. "And if we change this..."

Their eyes went back to the board and the equation, but Amita's hand—and Megan's attention therefore—was inching up into Charlie's hair, threading into the curls and getting a good secure hold.

Megan's head tilted as she considered this—and the fact that neither of them seemed to be aware of the action.

Her psychology training told her that it was probably a subconscious fear of losing him that had Amita seeking that connection—not just a physical link, but actually getting a grip not easily shaken off.

It also said something about Charlie's subconscious fears that he didn't try to free himself, even absently.

And somehow knowing all that only made the gesture that much more intimate.

And _that_ was when Megan felt her cheeks heat up, her gaze shifting away as soon as she realized what she was seeing.

Which of course was Colby's cue to enter with a file of more information for the two mathematicians, announcing himself with the rather unsubtle, "Megan, what _are_ you thinking about that has you blushing like that?"

Charlie and Amita turned and Megan found herself the subject of three curious gazes. Which only fueled the embarrassment and sent _more_ blood rushing to her cheeks.

But she hadn't survived in a male-dominated work environment without learning a trick or two for deflecting attention from her. "Are you sure you want to know the answer to that?" she asked.

Colby grinned and started to speak, then paused when she arched an eyebrow.

"Is it about you and Larry?"

She grinned. "Maybe."

"Then no. I'm good." He turned and held up the folder. "Got your information on the 911 calls."

Charlie hurried over to take the folder and ask questions, but Amita was still looking at Megan, head tilted in consideration.

Megan shook her head and Charlie saved her from further scrutiny with his data to add to the equation, bringing Amita back to the boards.

Let them think she'd been daydreaming of Larry. It was less embarrassing than the truth and would keep Colby from asking her anything non-work related.

For at least a week or two anyway.

* * *

Review, plz&thx.


	13. Disaster

**Prompt:** Disaster**  
Rating:** K+**  
Characters:** Charlie, Don**  
Warnings:** language, brotherly schmoop out the wahoo, excessively hot men being hot, PWP without the pr0n (Plot What Plot?)**  
Genres:** Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fluff, Gen, Pr0nless PWP (Plot? What Plot?)

**Summary:** Caution: Genius At Work.

* * *

"Charlie?" Don called as he entered the house.

"In the kitchen!" came the response.

Don shed his jacket and hung it up, then headed toward the back of the house, pausing to scan the mail that lay on the table. It wasn't unusual for the odd piece of mail to end up at his childhood home instead of his current apartment.

Hell, for all he saw of his apartment these days he might as well have _all_ of his mail redirected here. It would save him gas if nothing else.

Nothing waited for him, so he continued on toward the back, sniffing when he got closer and detected the faint smell of smoke.

"Charlie?" he called, his steps speeding up when he didn't get an immediate response.

There was a crash and a curse and he picked up the pace further.

He was moving pretty quickly when he hit the door and kept going, pausing just inside the room when he got a good look.

Charlie was standing with his back to the stove, flour or powdered sugar or something white liberally dusting his hair like fresh snowfall, one finger stuck in his mouth and a scowl on his face. Behind him, tendrils of smoke rose from one of the burners.

As Don watched the small pile of white burst into a full—if still relatively small—flame.

"Charlie!" he said and jumped forward, grabbing his brother's arm and yanking him away from the stove.

He looked around and snagged the dishcloth in the sink, smacking the fire until it went out with one hand, the other reaching to shut off the heat.

"Charlie, what the hell—"

"It's not what it looks like."

Don's eyebrow rose. "Good. Because it looks like allowing you out of the house by yourself everyday is a bad idea."

Charlie's scowl morphed into a full glare. He pulled his finger out of his mouth and examined it.

"What did you do to yourself?" Don asked, crossing back over and taking Charlie's wrist in his hand to bring the finger close enough to check out himself. "No blood. You burn yourself?"

Charlie sighed and rubbed at his forehead, wincing when his fingers ventured into his scalp.

Don echoed the sigh. "What _is_ that in your hair?"

"Flour," Charlie muttered.

Don reached up to ruffle it out but pulled back when something greasy smeared over his hand.

"Flour and what?" Don asked.

"Butter," Charlie said, almost pouting.

"Flour and... What the _hell_ are you trying to do in here, Charlie?"

He wiped his hand on the damp cloth, then used it to ruffle Charlie's hair and get most of the flour out.

When Charlie winced again and tried to pull away with a hiss, Don got a better grip with both hands and bent his brother's head toward him. "Charlie, I think you're bleeding under all this crap."

"Of course I am," Charlie muttered.

"Okay, seriously, what is going on?"

Charlie looked away, hunched over like he was going to get in trouble. "I wanted waffles."

Don blinked. "Waffles?"

Charlie glowered up at him. "Yeah. Waffles."

Don looked over at the stove, then at the counter where an assortment of ingredients waited, then to Charlie, floured and buttered and bleeding.

"Maybe you should go back to bed, buddy. I think it's a bit early for you to be up and trying to cook. The doctor did say that the drugs he gave you for the pain were going to make you a little groggy."

Charlie scratched at the skin just above the cast on his arm, digging a finger absently under the edge until Don pulled his hand away.

"But I want waffles," he whined sounding much more like the little brother Don remembered wearing a graduation gown five sizes too big and less like the honored college math professor he was supposed to be now.

Don's head dropped forward and he exhaled, then inhaled and lifted it back up. "I'll make you some waffles, okay?"

Charlie eyed him warily. "And toast?"

"Sure thing, Charlie. Anything you want. Just come sit down and let me clean up your head and I'll make you anything you want."

"Okay," Charlie agreed and let himself be led out of the kitchen. "Donnie?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I think I left the oven on."

Don's head fell to meet his waiting palm, his fingers digging into the sockets on either side of his nose.

"Don't worry, Charlie. I'll take care of it all."

* * *

Review, plz&thx.


	14. Food

**Prompt:** Food**  
Rating:** K**  
Characters:** Charlie, Megan**  
Warnings:** PWP without the pr0n (Plot What Plot?)**  
Genres:** Humor, Friendship, Fluff, Gen, Pr0nless PWP (Plot? What Plot?)

**Summary:** She has suffered silently for far too long. Something must be done.

* * *

"Okay, so we send two teams back out to ask about this new suspect," Don said.

Charlie nodded and capped the marker he was holding. "Someone had to have seen him, he spends all of his time in these two areas."

Don nodded. "David, take the north section." Sinclair nodded and went to go gather a team of agents for canvassing.

"Megan, why don't you take the south—"

"Sorry, Don," she said, shaking her head. "I have that lunch appointment, remember?" She raised her eyebrows significantly and he frowned. It cleared after only a moment.

"Ohh, right. Okay. Colby, you've got south."

Colby nodded. "You got it, boss." He too left so it was only Megan, Don, and Charlie in the room, the latter scribbling notes on the board, despite his contributions being complete for the moment.

"Have fun," Don said with a grin.

"Oh, I will," she said, then shifted her gaze to the younger Eppes brother.

Don laughed quietly and went to go set up communications for the two teams heading out.

Megan strolled over to the board, eyes scanning the fresh line of numbers and symbols appearing under Charlie's hand.

Given enough time she might have been able to work portions of it, but she was well aware that overall it was outside of her abilities.

Which wasn't really relevant at this moment.

She reached up and plucked the marker from Charlie's fingers and his hand followed hers, grasping at the marker just out of reach.

He blinked at her, a look that they FBI agents of the LA Field Office had come to recognize meant he was returning to reality from wherever his numbers took him.

"Megan? I was, uh, using that."

Expression flat, she made a show of capping it and setting it on the tray below the board.

His eyebrows rose and a small smile flirted around his lips.

"Megan?" he repeated.

She hooked her arm in his and turned him toward the door.

"Walk with me, Charlie," she said, but it was more of a declaration of their current activity than an invitation.

He laughed, obviously still confused, but acceded to her wishes and paced her easy stroll.

He did glance at his brother when they walked past, silently asking what was going on with the female agent, but Don just grinned and waved, then went back to his phone conversation.

They waited for the elevator in silence, Megan resolutely facing forward, Charlie sneaking glances at her to try and figure out what was going on.

The car came and they got on and she pushed the button for the ground floor.

They went down three floors without a word, then he couldn't help it anymore.

"Megan, what are we doing?"

"We're going to lunch," she said.

Charlie's eyebrows rose. "We're... Okay. Um." His head tilted and he half laughed. "Is there some reason why you felt the need to kidnap me for this lunch?"

Now she turned to look at him, though her arm remained firmly twined with his. "I'm not kidnapping you. That implies I am forcing your compliance in leaving the building with me, either with the threat of violence—with or without a weapon—or with physical manipulation. Have I forced you with any threats or violence?"

"Nooo?"

She nodded and faced forward again.

"Then it's not kidnapping."

He frowned, head tilting slightly as he considered this.

"Okay," he finally said as they stepped out into the lobby and headed for the front doors. "Then what is it?"

"I told you." She nodded at another agent, flashing a brief smile. "Lunch."

Charlie fell silent again, still obviously confused.

They made their way out to the street and Charlie was feeling a small amount of inexplicable relief at the fact that they were walking to lunch. Just now, he wasn't sure he would be comfortable getting in a vehicle with Megan.

Not that he thought she was a threat to him or anything, but... well...

Was it too late to change his answer to her question?

"Here we are," she announced, interrupting his thoughts.

He looked up to see it was a small deli, one he knew the agents on his brother's team favored for their quick delivery at all hours of the day or night.

They went in and joined the line and Megan asked him about his classes.

He responded warily, feeling that he was missing something vital in this whole excursion and wondering if this was what his brother talked about when he said Charlie needed to pay more attention to his surroundings.

They reached the head of the line after twenty minutes of small talk, and Megan ordered while Charlie looked at the board up on the wall. He wasn't as familiar with the menu and he'd been distracted during the wait between the small talk and wondering if he should excuse himself to the restroom and call his brother and ask if he'd noticed anything odd about Megan lately.

He had plenty of time to choose what he wanted because Megan took her time placing a rather large order.

He gave her a scrutinizing look, an idea forming in his mind that might explain all of this.

It was an absurd one, but then again, the only other theory that he could come up with involved alien abduction. Perhaps pregnancy wasn't that outlandish.

He rattled off his order and frowned.

It did, however, raise some rather interesting questions.

Especially since—to the best of his knowledge she and Larry were still involved— His eyes bugged wide as that thought completed itself.

No.

No, it was just not possible.

Was it?

Maybe alien abduction WAS the more rational explanation.

He stared blankly, running over calculations and probabilities in his head until he realized that Megan was calling his name.

"Huh? What?"

She nodded at the young woman cashiering. "You have to pay for the food," Megan said.

"Oh, right! Sorry," he said, with a smile. He dug out his wallet, glanced at the number on the register and frowned. "Wait, that's—"

"Charlie," Megan said sharply. "Other people are waiting." He looked at the long line behind them and smiled again. "Sorry. It's just—"

"Charlie." She was giving him that look—the one that even Colby didn't question—and Charlie pulled out two twenties and handed them to the girl.

His change was given back and he tucked it away as Megan ushered him down the counter to where their food was waiting.

"Megan—"

"Come on, there's a table in the back if we hurry!"

She grabbed two of the bags and disappeared into the lunch rush.

He frowned after her until someone bumped him and he realized he was still in the way. "Sorry. I'm just—" He laughed quickly and scooped up the rest of the food and the drinks.

He managed to make it to the table where Megan was seated and sat.

She was already devouring one of the two subs she'd ordered.

He sat down, regarding her carefully.

"This is fabulous," she said between bites. "I missed breakfast this morning and all I had for dinner yesterday was coffee. Mmmm."

He unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite, but was unaware of what it tasted like, focused as he was on her. "Something wrong?" she asked when she looked up and saw the expression on his face.

"No, I just..." He set the sandwich down and leaned in. "Megan, are you feeling all right?"

She held his gaze and picked up a pickle spear, crunching half of it off in one bite.

"Why?" she asked after swallowing.

"I— I don't know, you seem kind of..." He squinted trying to figure out how to say it that wouldn't end with her reacting badly.

She laughed and sat down her sandwich. "Charlie, do you know why we're here?"

He looked around. "Because it's lunchtime?" he said, feeling both lost and relieved that she was going to explain.

She laughed again. "I mean why you and I are having lunch together."

He searched her face for a hint, then shook his head, deciding he had nothing to lose for trying to inject some humor into the situation. "No. I have no idea why you and I are having lunch together." He picked up his sandwich. "At this point, I'm just hoping that you're not in the middle of a psychotic break that is precipitating you going on a killing spree with me as your first victim."

She laughed loudly at that, drawing the attention of several patrons around them.

He smiled, feeling that the attempt was at least a partial success and deciding to go for a second round. "I would, however, like to remind you that my brother saw us leave together and you'll be his first suspect if I go missing now."

Her head fell forward as she continued to laugh, then lifted once more, her hand coming up to wipe at tears of mirth.

"Oh Charlie," she said.

He laughed, feeling like an idiot, but just glad he was obviously wrong.

Then her laughter abruptly stopped and she said with complete seriousness, "If I wanted to kill you, Charlie, your brother would never suspect me and they'd never find your body."

His face froze.

"Um."

She smiled and picked up her sub.

"I'm kidding," she assured him, though it wasn't completely successful. Then she continued, "Charlie, you've said before that human beings are prone to noticing patterns. That we look for them both consciously and subconsciously, right?"

He took a drink, hoping it would help clear his throat of the ball of fear that had temporarily lodged there.

"Yes?"

"Well, I've noticed a pattern. One that involves you."

"It does?" he said.

"Mhm," she said, then took a bite.

He waited while she chewed, then swallowed.

"You are a dynamic speaker. Your hands move a lot to illustrate your point. And you like to use visual examples. Probably because you're a teacher."

"Well, uh, they do tend to go over better with the students. And the concepts tend to stick with them."

She nodded and waved a hand. "Exactly! And we FBI agents aren't quite on the same level as your students at Cal Sci, are we? Sometimes we need a little more help, right?"

"Well, I don't know if— I mean, you're all very intelligent and—"

"Shush, Charlie. I'm not saying you think we're dumb. But we're not math students and you explain some pretty high level math to us on a regular basis."

"Okay."

"Now, this pattern, I've noticed. You tend to use whatever is at hand. The boards, or pencils, or a crumpled up ball of paper, or, you know, just stuff that's there."

"Right." His brows had drawn down into a frown again. He had _no_ idea where she was going with this.

"Or, like, say, the ice cubes in my tea. Or my popcorn. Or my sandwich. Or my coffee. Or my _chocolate_." She was giving him that significant look again, though it really wasn't necessary. "Are you seeing the pattern here too, Charlie?"

"Megan, I'm so sorry, I—"

She waved it off. "I know you don't do it on purpose, Charlie. You're not malicious like that." She shrugged. "Though I do find it interesting that you never do it to anyone else," she added, tilting her head.

"Anyway, the point is, I knew you'd feel bad if I pointed it out to you and so I figured if you were already making it up to me, that might help ease your guilt."

He blinked at her, then looked down at the meal, then over at the cashier.

His shoulder slumped as it all came together. "Oh." He chuckled. "Okay then."

She smiled and ate another pickle.

"Now that we've got that out of the way, you think you can stop looking at me like I'm about to draw my gun and open fire on you?"

"Hey," he said. "It was a valid concern. For one, I know you're armed."

She shrugged, "Yeah, but this is LA. Everyone here is armed."

"I'm not," he said.

She leaned in an confided to him in a hushed voice. "I think this is just one more case of you being the exception, not the rule."

He shrugged. "Conformity is overrated."

They ate in silence for a few moments, then he said, "Look, Megan, I really am sorry. I'm not consciously picking on you—"

"Oh, I know. But I thought that you should probably be made aware of this habit of yours. That and I really wanted an excuse to get out of the office for lunch, and when I explained my proposal to your brother—so he _wouldn't_ think I was kidnapping you—he agreed that you probably needed to have this explained before it got worse."

"Yeah, and, don't get me wrong, I appreciate it, but I'm just not sure how much good that's actually going to do." He smiled sheepishly. "I wasn't even aware of it and it's actually quite likely I'll continue to not be aware of it since it tends to happen when I'm in my, you know, zone."

Megan shrugged one shoulder. "Well, then, I'll make you a deal. You can keep stealing my food for your analogies as long as you help me escape the office once a week for food that doesn't come out of vending machine."

She held out a hand to shake on it and he looked at the limb.

"How will Larry feel about this arrangement?"

She rolled her eyes. "Larry was the one that suggested I find a way to get out of the office for real food more often. If not for his teaching schedule, he'd probably be the one to drag me out." Her head tilted. "He actually mentioned you as a substitute since he knows that he has nothing to worry about since you and Amita are a couple. And you're not actually FBI, so he's hoping you'll make me talk about non-FBI related things.

"I agreed with him that it should be you because you're kind of adorable." She winked.

"Megan!" he said and flushed a bright red, making her laugh.

"Now see, that right there is a perfect example of why you're the best choice after Larry. I have the utmost of respect for teammates and enjoy their company, but they're not nearly as much fun to tease."

He sighed and shook his head. "How is it that I can change the world's understanding of mathematics, help countless students understand the intricacies of game theory, solve multiple crimes for the FBI, and still be 'that cute kid that's fun to tease'?"

She gave him a critical look, then tilted her head and said, "I think it's the hair."

He rolled his eyes and took another bite of his sandwich.

* * *

Review, plz&thx.


	15. At Work

**Prompt:** At Work**  
Rating:** T**  
Characters:** Charlie, Don, Team LA**  
Warnings:** language, brotherly schmoop out the wahoo, excessively hot men being hot, PWP without the pr0n (Plot What Plot?)**  
Genres:** Angst, Family, Fluff, Gen, Pr0nless PWP (Plot? What Plot?)

**Summary:** The human mind instinctively looks for patterns everywhere. Many times they are insignificant or irrelevant. Sometimes they are not.

* * *

"Don, can I, uh, talk to you about something?"

Don spared a glance for his younger brother in between skimming the file on their current unsub in a string of serial murders.

"Sure. What's up?"

The fidgeting out of the corner of his eye drew Don's attention from the report in front of him and he frowned, looking at his brother fully. "You okay there, Charlie?"

Charlie was shifting from foot to foot and staring at something across the room—or, possibly, looking through it. "Huh?" he said and looked back.

Both Don's FBI training and his big brother instincts started ringing every alarm they had at the look in Charlie's eyes, and on his face. In fact, his whole body language screamed that he was scared by something.

"Hey, whoa," Don said, taking his brother by the arm and leading him into an empty conference room. "Okay, what's going on, Charlie?"

Charlie looked at him, but the glance was brief, his attention soon jumping elsewhere, following sounds and movement.

"I think—" He paused and swallowed, a classic Charlie stall tactic when he had to gather his courage to say whatever was on his mind. He eyes actually met Don's and stayed there for a moment. "I think someone was following me."

"What?" Don said.

"Fr—" He inhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. "From school to here. From here to home. From home to school. There is a c— a car." Charlie pulled out a chair and dropped into it, digging his fingers into his hair and then pulling his hands down and scrubbing his palms over his face.

"There is a car and I thought it was just a- a random—well, not _random_, but—" He gestured with a hand, pounding the side of his palm on the table. "It's been there, behind me in traffic. I thought it was just someone who had the same commute, you know?

"I mean," he laughed mirthlessly, "with the number of cars in this city and the number of roads, it's not totally impossible that was it, right?"

His hand went back to his head, fingers tangling in his curls and gripping tightly as his voice dropped in volume to almost a whisper. "But that doesn't explain— I mean, from home to school and school to home, maybe. But then today—just now—I saw it behind me when I was coming here. That's not part of my routine," he pointed out.

Don opened his mouth to speak and Charlie just kept going, apparently afraid he was going to be told he was overreacting.

"It's not—I mean, I come here a lot, yeah, but not at the same time or by the same route necessarily. And if it had only been a block or two, or on the freeway, then maybe—"

"Okay," Don said. "Okay." He'd been feeling a little blindsided by this, but now he'd had a moment to absorb it and his training was taking over. Well, that and anger, but the former would be slightly more helpful right now.

Anger needed to be saved until they had this son of a bitch in interrogation.

"Tell me about the car," he said.

"What?" Charlie asked, then blinked. "Right. Um," he eyes squeezed shut and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's a green car, um, a sedan. A fairly new one. Uhhhh, Ford, I think? I'm— I'm not sure. The little decal thing was ovalish, but it might be another—"

"Okay," Don said, cutting Charlie off before he got too lost in details he wasn't sure about. "Anything else? License plate? Distinguishing marks? Damage from an accident or anything like that?"

"No— Uh, no. I don't—no damage. I'm- I'm not sure about the license plate. It was a norm— A normal one. Not, like, the whale tail or the palm trees or anything."

"Okay, that's good," Don said, taking a seat. "That's really good, Charlie. Can you remember anything about the occupants of the car? Was it just the driver, or were there passengers?"

"Um. I— I don't." He raised his head, confusion twisting his features. "Just a driver? I'm— I'm not sure. I think—" He blew out a breath and pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. "Why? Why would someone _do_ this, Don?"

"I don't know," Don said and put a hand on Charlie's shoulder, squeezing it. "But I'm gonna find out, all right?"

Charlie nodded. "I'm sorry. I'm probably overreacting—"

"No," Don cut him off, shaking his shoulder with the hand still on it. "No. Charlie, this is one case where overreacting is the better response. Stalkers don't just go away, they don't just stop on their own."

"But they're not— They haven't hurt me, they haven't even _approached_ me."

"Are you sure?"

Charlie had started pacing and now he turned and looked at Don. "What?"

"Are you sure they haven't approached or contacted you? Because odds are, they have."

Charlie half smiled, "Don, I know I'm not the most observant person, but I'm _sure_ I'd notice—"

"Actually, you probably wouldn't. Not at first."

Charlie's brows drew down.

"It could be a student in one of your classes. It could be someone on campus who has classes in the buildings where you spend a lot of your time. Hell, it could be the checker at the grocery store." Charlie had gone pale considering the possibilities, and Don hated to do it, but he needed Charlie to understand.

"Charlie, I'm not telling you this to scare you, okay? Nothing's going to happen to you. We're gonna figure out who this is and stop them, okay?" He waited until Charlie nodded. "But they don't have to hurt you to be stalking you. They don't actually _have_ to contact you even. If they're following you and scaring you, that's enough. And we need to stop them now because they _will_ escalate."

Charlie's head snapped up. "Es-escalate? What does— What does _that_ mean?"

"It means they'll try to make contact. And if it's not stopped, eventually it means they'll probably get violent."

Charlie swayed on his feet and swallowed rapidly several times. Don put out a hand to steady him.

"It won't come to that," Don said, squeezing his shoulder. "I'm not going to let it, okay, Charlie? Now I'm going to go get Colby and David started on looking for the car, and talk to the AD about reassigning some of our cases, okay? Megan's going to come ask you about people you might have seen a lot of recently, students that seem to want more help than they actually need, that kind of thing, okay?"

"My students— Don, I have an open door policy. I— My students stop by just to say _hi_. I don't—"

"And most of them are probably just regular friendly students, but we need to make sure of that okay, Buddy?"

Charlie sighed and nodded. "Okay." He rubbed at his forehead and Don made a note to tell Megan to bring back some aspirin.

"Megan'll be here in a minute, I'll be back as soon as I talk to the AD."

Don left, casting a look over his shoulder to see Charlie sinking back into the chair he'd vacated and burying his face in his hands.

He hated doing this, hated seeing the way the distrust and suspicion crept into the eyes of victims when they realized they couldn't trust everyone around them anymore.

He hated it even more in Charlie.

With a sigh, he went to the cubicles to find his team.

They were going to find this sonofabitch before he could do take anything else from Charlie.

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Review, plz&thx.


	16. At Work II

**Prompt:** At Work II**  
Rating:** T**  
Characters:** Don, Team LA**  
Warnings:** language, brotherly schmoop out the wahoo, excessively hot men being hot, PWP without the pr0n (Plot What Plot?)**  
Genres:** Angst, Family, Fluff, Gen, Pr0nless PWP (Plot? What Plot?)  
**Notes:** So many of you asked for more to the last chapter. My Muse obliged with this. It's not much, I know, but hopefully you'll enjoy it anyway. :)

**Summary:** He's only related to Don by blood, but that doesn't really matter to the rest of the team. They protect what's theirs.

* * *

"Hey, Don," Colby greeted when he joined the rest of the team.

"Colby and I were going to go see if we can get anything else out of Rico Martinez about his former pris on buddies," David informed their boss.

"Not anymore," Don countered. "I need you to find out how many late model dark green sedans with oval shaped decals there are in the LA area."

"Ouch. That's got to be a couple thousand cars," Colby said.

"At least," David said. "What's going on?"

Don was digging his bottle of aspirin out of his desk. When he found it he handed it to Megan and said, "Take this and a glass of water to Charlie in conference room two. He'll be giving you a list of people who he's seen a lot of recently."

She nodded, grabbing a legal pad and a pen. "Sure," she said, accepting the bottle and heading off to the break room for the water.

"Don, what happened?" Colby asked even as David was waking up his computer.

Don sat on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. "Charlie said he's seen a car following him."

"What?" Colby said.

Don nodded, then dug his fingers into the corners of his eyes. He should have taken two of those aspirin before handing them off.

"He thought it was just a coincidence—or at least a likely probability," Don corrected. "He thought it was just someone who shared his commute."

"But..." Colby prompted.

"But then they followed him from the school over here today." Don looked at David. "Check the security cameras on the parking garage. Even if they didn't come in, they probably drove past. Charlie didn't have a license plate number, though he said it's the regular standard plates."

David nodded, but it was Colby who hopped into his chair, swinging around to his computer. "I'm on it." David began the request for the list of registered vehicles in the DMV's database instead.

"Cross whatever you guys get with Megan's list, if nothing pops, give Charlie the list of owners and see if he knows any of them."

They both nodded and Don stood. "I have to go talk to Merrick about our current caseload."

"We'll find him, Don," Colby said. David nodded resolutely in agreement and Don echoed the motion.

"Yeah. I just hope it's before anything else happens."

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Review, plz & thx.


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